Petunia's Friend, Yvette
The Thompson's of Number 6 Privet Drive had never liked the Dursley's. In fact, the woman of the household, Yvette, quite disliked them. The only reason she kept civil with the family of Number Four was because of the darling little girl under their roof, the wallflower boasting a biting silver tongue. Every summer Yvette found herself on the same gardening schedule as odd little Harry Potter, and every summer she would get regailed with near-raving rants about her ill-witted cousin and her "mean" "keepers," and if it wasn't for how kind the girl was to Yvette and the flowers she managed, she might have almost believed the Dursley's claims of delinquent and troublemaker just from her colorful, thinly-veiled insults. But in the years since she went off to her correctional schooling (something about "Incurably Criminal Children"), having recieved plenty of heartfelt letters with matching, wonderful photos of Harry Potter — in strange but properly-fitting clothes, another little girl boasting wild hair and a ginger boy at either side, typically outside near a dark lake, a looming castle in the background, presumably the school — Yvette found her thoughts veering from her typical cooing and tittering, focusing on how she filled out over the months and Had she been so thin when she left?
It wasn't until that summer that Yvette truly acknowledged Harry's probably-very-poor living situation. Unlike her, her husband, Gerard Thompson, a quiet and stern man working as the Senior Divisional Officer in the local fire brigade, had always seemed to be hyper aware of the Dursley's treatment of Harry. Now, her husband was the stay-in-your-own-lane type and he typically wouldn't involve himself (after all, that was the bobbies jurisdiction, he would often reason to himself when Harry had said something particularly alarming), but Harry had always been different. Gerard could never manage to stamp down his concern, asking Yvette things like Did she miss a meal or two? She's looking too thin, and Did she have that bruise yesterday? It's a tad too rough to just be from horsing around, innit? almost as if to push her into acting in his stead.
He had never brushed off the strange behavior as just odd little Harry Potter doing as she does, though he also never pushed when she said that she was alright. Rather, everytime something happened or Harry said something particularly alarming, he would diligently record. Every bruise and every flinch were well documented, whether that be through meticulous recountings in her husband's diary or through strategic angles in "surprise photos" for their "scrapbooks," — and it turns out he was actually making scrapbooks, to Yvette's surprise, one for "Business" (of which Yvette had only just begun realising the importance of) and one simply to store precious memories.
Yvette had thought him excessive and paranoid, but she humored him— that is, until The Summer: the Dursley's had put wrought iron bars on one of their front windows, the one which looked onto a gilded bird cage, clearly belonging to Harry's beloved "Hedwig," — whom the Thompson's, though they had yet to actually meet the beloved pet, knew well and cared for after listening to story upon tale upon spiel of her looking after Harry, in some way or another, over the last year in Harry's letters. Harry did not leave Number 4 at all that break, and even when summer had bled into autumn and the beginning of the school year had come and gone, the Thompson's, nor anyone else on the street, had ever seen her walk out of the door of that retched house after being dragged in by the wrist at the beginning of Summer Holidays; and they had asked, sending subtle feelers out in their respective social circles — the rest of the street was not nearly so fond of strange little Harry Potter but even the most reclusive of their neighbors knew better than to believe the horse shite of Petunia Dursley and felt an appropriate amount of concern for the girl's well-being. Their only hope lied in that, though they had never seen Harry leave, one day, the bars had been ripped from the outside of the Dursley Residence, and the entire street had been woken by the wailing siren of an ambulance coming to fetch Vernon Dursley, who had somehow fallen out of a first-story window.
After that summer, Yvette began to seriously consider her husband's claims. Her first instinct was to contact the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and the local police for a welfare check, and perhaps to submit a formal report if things were not resolved by then, but Gerard cautioned her in his gruff baritone, "There's something off going on around here..." Apparently, he had looked into cases against the Dursley's, going as far as to use his connections in the police department and the ambulance services of the mostlocal two hospitals, but every accusation against the Dursley's had been dropped, with both of those that submitted reports rescinding them, citing some variation of "I've completely forgotten what I was even worried about!" Miraculously, the police conducted no further investigation and the NSPCC never got involved.
The first person to raise accusations against the Dursley's, a nun named Sister Elizabeth Jones, had been fired from her job as an English-cum-Bible teacher at St. Grogory's Primary School the day after rescinding her allegations for being intoxicated while at work, and her charges were further discredited as a drunkard's jest. Authorities had found her later that same day wandering the streets in a severe daze and with no alcohol — or any other kind of intoxicant, for that matter — in her system.
The second, the school nurse at — again — St. Grogory's Primary School, a man who went by Daniel Allen, had submitted not only neglect allegations, but also abuse and child endangerment. He, like Miss Jones, dropped his allegations and was found several hours later wandering the streets the next day — only, he had severe amnesia and no recollection of Harry Potter at all. He ended up being let go from his position ot St. Grogory's because he had no idea how to do his job or even what it entailed, and permanently induced to the psychiatric ward of Royal Surrey County Hospital after several instances where he had forgotten how to breathe.
Authorities had apparently meant to perform further investigations, as even just two accusations within the same nine-month period would be enough to raise concern, let alone the eerily similar repeals and incidents following in the same time frame, however the officers forgot and any documentation on the case was lost.